


and i wish i could tell you that

by tousled



Category: DreamWorks Dragons (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship, Set in RTTE, Sheltering from a storm, rtte
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24423184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tousled/pseuds/tousled
Summary: The first real storm of winter descends upon The Edge with the fury of a thousand starving dragons, howling at the windows and shaking the doors.
Relationships: Astrid Hofferson/Tuffnut Thorston
Comments: 7
Kudos: 14
Collections: HTTYD RarePair Bingo





	and i wish i could tell you that

**Author's Note:**

> title from crave by kiesza. i can’t believe she’s making new music,,,, i’m so excited it’s so good .... there’s some GOOD stuff coming soon...
> 
> For the HTTYD rare pair bingo - stranded in a storm. God, remember when we knew there was going to be an rtte Tuffstrid episode and we were hoping it was snowed in???????? I love what we got but AHHHHHHH

Stranded together in a storm 

The first real storm of winter descends upon The Edge with the fury of a thousand starving dragons, howling at the windows and shaking the doors. Astrid swears as she battles great gusts of winds to pull the club room’s doors shut, her fingers freezing against the metal. This morning the sky was bright, cloud free and she’d laughed alongside the others when Tuff had said it was going to rain. Now, as he shutters the windows Astrid thinks it was an understatement. 

It’s just the two of them in the club room; Hiccup, Fishlegs and Snotlout left just after breakfast for Mala’s island and Ruff and Heather were both not back yet from their chores. Hopefully, they’ve holed up in the stables or their huts, and the others made it to Mala before the weather set in. She’d suggest going out to find them, except the rain was so strong it stung when it hit and the wind was strong enough to pick up a waif of a boy like Tuffnut and toss him around. They just have to trust the others are fine. 

Astrid shuts the door, but doesn’t lock it, just in case and makes sure the door won’t blow open the second she turns her back before heading to the fire. It was just stoked, ready for the stew to be cooked over it and she peels off her shoulder guards to expose her cold shoulders. A moment later Tuff joins her, shivering, looking a little like a drowned rat. 

“Do you think they’re okay?” Tuff asks, twisting his hands. 

“I’m sure they’re fine.” Astrid says. She has no idea, but there’s no use worrying. And no use worrying Tuff. “Take your clothes off, you’re going to freeze.” 

“You have to buy me dinner first,” Tuff snaps, curling his arms protectively around himself and Astrid would laugh if not for how his teeth chattering ruined the snipe. She looks at him, wet and shivering and curled up into himself. He looks like he wants to be anywhere else but here with her, even battered out in the storm. 

“I think there’s probably spares somewhere, Snotlout’s always dropping his coats off in here.” She offers, careful. 

“Gross.” Tuff says, turning away and Astrid tries not to take the dismissal personally. She takes a breath, deep and turns, letting her fingers twitch but not ball into a fist. 

She scouts all the usual spots, pulling out half of Snotlout’s wardrobe, a shirt Fishlegs was darning and a half made rug. There’s a few spare pelts tucked over a bench, a piece of canvas she can probably hoist up to be a hammock. They can wrap up in the pelts in front of the fire and pray, wish upon every star that their friends are okay. 

“Thanks.” Tuff says, clipped and he doesn’t look at Astrid as he turns; back to her as he pulls the wet shirt off, material sticking to his skin. It’s goose pimpled, the shake in his shoulders obvious even as he inches closer to the fire to warm up. 

“You’re welcome,” Astrid chokes out. She looks away, at the pot of stew and picks up a wooden spoon helplessly to stir it unnecessarily. She can feel some kind, but unthoughtful comment curling up her throat, a mimicry of her mama worrying about how the twins are sticks and bones, something else, something that’s going to come out wrong. 

Since the siege, she feels like she’s stepping around the twins like she’s afraid of breaking something, knowing she’s not careful enough not to. She’s known them her whole life, barely listening to her mama voice concerns, worries, brushing over their ridiculous words and actions as lack of discipline. Something about being in that situation, stuck at The Edge just waiting for the fire to rain down on them, waiting for attack like she’s still three and being hidden in the pantry when a fight’s on burnt the wool out from in front of her eyes. Each brittle squaring of shoulders, of how even with Astrid’s training routine they never seem to bulk out, of Tuff’s open nerve of a heart speaking whenever someone looked over him. They don’t appreciate the delicacy, but if there’s one thing Astrid’s learnt about the new world is that she’s always in the wrong place. 

And just last week Ruff blew up at her for some comment about seconds. She’s a gronckle in a china shop, never good enough, never right. And for some reason, now it makes her feel sick to see Ruff’s frown, Tuff’s slumped shoulders. Staring death in its face for Hiccup without thanks had worn the shine off his empty words, but it has exposed other gems. 

“Are your slacks wet too?” Astrid asks, focussing solely on the stew, refraining from looking again. She wants to, and it makes her stomach churn even more. “Don’t forget to dry them as well.” 

“Who are you and what have you done with Astrid?” Tuff demands, enough like himself that Astrid forgets herself and looks up. He’s wearing Fishlegs’ spare tunic, far too big, like a child playing dress up in his father’s clothes. The collar slips off his shoulder, a mile and a half of pale goosepimpled skin exposed. 

“Tuff.” Astrid says. She wants to say, I hate that you think this is out of character, but it feels like a promise and it’s not one she knows she can keep. 

“I mean, is this a horror story? Are you going to call out to me from outside and I’m supposed to guess which one of you is real?” Tuff demands, his voice stilted and Astrid’s not sure if it’s because of everything or if he’s really worried about an imposter amongst their midst. 

“I’m the real Astrid,” she says and Tuff laughs. 

“Spoken like a fake Astrid.” He taunts, teeth chattering and smile toothy, and Astrid takes it for the bait it is, looking back. She missed so much nipping at Hiccup’s heels, it’s almost strange to just look. He’s going to freeze, even in Fishlegs’ too big clothes and it’s a stupid mistake to wear something so restrictive if you thought you were in danger. 

“You’d know,” Astrid says, and she doesn’t know where it comes from but when she says it, she knows she’s right. “You’d work it out in like, two seconds flat. I don’t know how you’d know, but you would. You’re smart and observant like that, even if you like to pretend you aren’t. 

“Now I really know you’re a fake Astrid.” Tuff says and Astrid grins back, dropping the spoon to gather up the pelts to make a cozy little den of warmth. 

Tuff helps, an arm still around himself like he’s holding in the warmth with just his willpower and one skinny arm. Eventually she knocks the next freezing-cold helping hand away, directing him into the pelts, tucking them securely.Tuff curls up in the piles of pelts, only his face and hands showing and he doesn’t look so blue, so that’s a good sign. Astrid gets him a bowl of stew, ladling in more than he usually eats and makes sure the hot bowl isn’t directly on his hands. 

“Think this is a Fishlegs’ surprise?” He asks, sniffing it, steam curling around his face and Astrid looks away. 

“A Fishlegs’ surprise?” Astrid asks, ladling her own bowl. She thinks Hiccup made this batch, or he made Snotlout chop the vegetables when Hiccup was off doing scouting work of Viggo’s fleet. 

“Yeah. Surprise! It’s got some freaky herb we’ve never seen before and he’s using us as guinea pigs.” Tuff says, one hand holding the bowl precariously as he mimes surprise! 

“Does it taste funny?” Astrid asks, instead of what in Vanaheim is a guinea pig? Is it some new kind of livestock? 

Tuff wrinkles his nose, put out as Astrid sits beside him, curling her own pelts around herself. She picks up her own stew, the bowl hit under her hands and she lets the warmth soak into her. She takes a bite, piping hot chunks of potato and burns her tongue. Tuff looks at her, and then immediately does the same thing, coughing as he chokes on it .

“Maybe we should let it cool,” Astrid says, putting her bowl down and then taking Tuff’s bowl. 

“It’s bland.” Tuff says. “Definitely Hiccup’s cooking.” It shocks a laugh out of her. She gets up to find something luke warm to drink, sooth the burn but not cold to shock the system even further. There’s a couple of buckets of rain water, a bottle of mead that she’s sure Hiccup doesn’t know about. 

“That’s going to be a lot huh,” Astrid says as she hands over a cup of warm water, and as it leaves her mouth she knows for some reason it’s the wrong thing, “two terrible cooks.” 

“You’re not a bad cook,” Tuff says immediately, and then gulps down his water. Astrid stands there, unsure what to say. 

“That’s kind, but you’re wrong. I see the way everyone has less to eat when I cook and soaks everything up in bread.” Astrid shrugs, handing over the second cup when he reaches for it. 

“You’re functional, not bland.” Tuff says, eyes shining in the firelight as he looks up at her and it’s too much. 

It feels like more. A comment about herself, not her frankly embarrassing cooking skills. She hadn’t even realised she was bad at it until the first night out on this adventure she’d cooked. The twins had gotten out of food preparation making that over salted cod, and they’d all turned up their noses but it had been intentional. When they had all sat in silence, grimacing at Astrid’s yak ration stew she’d realised they were all scared of her. 

“I can be two things,” Astrid says, unsure what to do with the praise. 

“Oh, of course.” Tuff agrees easily, and for a moment Astrid thinks the topic is dropped when he adds, “I’d rather your functional, nutritional meals than Hiccup’s bland couldn’t-care-less stews.” 

“Thanks.” She sits back down, curling up into the pelts and picking up her stew again. It’s probably cool enough to attempt picking at now. And Tuff’s right, it is bland, potatoes and let over rabbit from three days ago and the taste of cornflour. 

The storm rages on around them as they eat, rattling at the shutters and making Tuff jump with each roll of thunder. They curl closer to the fire, closer to one another and eventually Tuff stops shivering, his teeth no longer chattering. The quiet is clearly too much so Astrid starts telling stories, things she’s heard around the fire by adults of voyages they had in their youths and clan battles long past. Tuff listens, enraptured and doesn’t critique her when she starts explaining in story defensive maneuvers and their ideal usefulness. He offers his own stories, when the rain isn’t so loud, the worry not so thick in the air, things that sound impossible lies Gruffnut told him and Astrid doesn’t point it out. He speaks of these fantastical places and long winded journeys and Astrid finds herself laughing at his animated storytelling. 

It’s not until the fire is low, and Astrid is almost too tired to pick up another log that she realises she hasn’t felt out of place in hours. Something in the entire world just being Astrid and Tuffnut, and the shared space between their breaths almost lulled her into sleep, comfortable. She gets up, still talking about a raid Gobber and Stoick had spoken of several times, stealing several chickens under a watchful chief’s noise, and grabs another couple of logs to keep the fire going. When she settles back in Tuff leans towards her like a sunflower towards the sun. 

“Tuff?” She asks, and he’s almost asleep, eyelids blinking heavily and she’s struck by the sudden burning need to lean over and kiss him. 

“Hmm?” Tuff mumbles, shifting so he can lean towards Astrid, hand pressed tightly against the ground as he all but rests on her shoulder.

“If I had to be stuck here with someone as the storm of the century raged on, I’m glad it was you.” She says, soft, not wanting to break the moment. Tuff blinks, and if not for the tiredness clinging to his eyelids it would be rapid, wide eyed. 

“Are you sure?” Tuff says, sleepy, confused, “not even Hiccup?” 

“Not even Hiccup.” Astrid agrees. 

Tuff is very quiet for a long time, enough that Astrid thinks maybe he has actually fallen asleep. She wonders if it’s safe to fall asleep when at one point your lips had been blue, but when she presses her fingers to his forehead he’s warm like a cat curled up in a sunbeam. He shifts, first away like Astrid’s fingers are cold and then towards her, seeking more pelts and blankets and warmth. He settles on Astrid’s shoulder, finally, finally bridging the gap and snuggles in the best, the most awkwardly, he can. 

“If I had to be stuck in a storm, it was nice it was you.” Tuff murmurs, quiet, and Astrid feels sick and elated and like she needs to go destroy something with her bare hands. She doesn’t, Tuff really has fallen asleep now, but she doesn’t know what to do with nice. That it’s nice to be around her. 

She tucks the corner of a pelt around his shoulder, curling it up close under his chin. The wind is still rattling at the windows, the wood and glass panes shaking, a thousand angry dragons begging to come inside. She curls an arm around him and settles back, face turned towards the fire and, 

It is nice. 

  
  
  



End file.
